The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-12-10
MISSIONARY THISTLES.

MISSIONARY THISTLES.
The boys mission band at Glenoaks
wanted to find some way to earn their
share of the missionary money which
went to far-away India.
There we're plenty of ways for the girls
to earn money, their nimble fingers could
do so many things deftly and we'll that
there was no fear but that the proportion
OF the money they had pledged themselves
to raise could be forthcoming, but the
boysl what could they do to earn some
money? They looked at their sturdy fin
gers, stubbed by baseball playing and
SCARED by jacknife accidents, in despair.
There did not seem to be any thing for
them to do just then. If it had been VIM
ter time they might have formed snow
shovel brigade, and turned the snowAakes
into pennies in the missionary Golfer, but
what was there to do beneath this blaz-
ing August sun?
Even Miss Mamie, their enthusiastic
young president, was without sugges-
ton for once One day she came home
from the city, her face aglow with the
brilliancy of the idea which had suggest
ed itself to her. A special meeting of
the mission band was called, and not
boy was absent when the roll was called,
for it bad been whispered about that
Miss Mamie had found out way for
them to make money.
Brown eyes, and blue eyes and grey
eyes, opened to their widest extent with
surprise and stared at Miss Mamie in
unmitigated establishment when she babe
them gather as many as they could of
the big purple thistles that were bloom
ing in profusion along the hedges just
then, and bring them to her the next Sat.
urday afternoon.
"But, Miss Mamie, what good are this
ties, I should like to know 2" ventured
one boy, more bewildered than the rest.
"That's my secret" smiled Miss Nan
ME, 81 will show you how to turn them
into missionary money when you bring
them to me-"
Saturday afternoon people wondered
not little when they saw groups OF this
tie laden boys turning their steps in the
direction of Miss Napnie's house. One
hundred thistles filled the large clothes
basket which had been prepared for their
reception, and then the boys looked at
Miss Mamie eagerly. What next?
She held up soft, fluffy pompon that
looked as if it was made of the whitest,
finest spun silk in the world.
"What do you think of that, boys?"
she asked. "Isn't it pretty?"
"Yes'm," was the chorus of assent.
"But what are you going to do with our
thistles?" was the eager query that fol-
lowed.
1--WE will make these lovely pompons
out of them and take them over to the
hotel at the lake and sell them, Miss Nan
ME answered. 81 paid ten cents for this,
and perhaps if ours are equally pretty
we may get the same price"
80 Miss Nannie!' and the boys looked
delighted though incredulous. "How
could anybody make soft, white thing
like that out of these old thistles?
81 will show you. Where are your
knives?" and in moment Miss Mamie
was explaining the mysteries Of pompon
making to her auditors.
Such busy, delightful afternoon as
that was, and when it closed, hundred
thistles, stripped of their green sheaths
and robbed OF their purplish plumes hung
in long rows in the garrett, ready for the
drying process.
Don't you believe they knew they were
missionary thistles? They acted as il
they did, for they fuffed out so beauti-
fully and were the softest, creamiest silk
en- color.
The next Saturday afternoon, daintily
laid in boxes that their delicate beauty
might not be marred by handling, tied in
punches with knots Of warm tinted rib
bon, the pompons were carried over to
the large hotel filled with summer board
ers, and there the boys found a ready
market. Each pompon brought shin
ing dime into the treasury, and when the
happy, tired boys counted up their gains
that night, an involuntary cheer escaped
the N as they found their bank held ten
whole dollars.
Weren't those missionary thistles? Yes,
but if loving hearts had not been full
of desire to work, they might never
have been transmitted into missionary
gold, but might have still been growing
by the wayside or scattering harvest of
mischief in the farmers felds.-M. E.
Kinney, in Presbyterian.